Sawtooth Spire when i've always been distant, and i've always told lies for love

Stag had come to the startling realization, several days too late, that he was now a year old. It felt strange, almost surreal, to arrive at that sudden epiphany. It was like the days kept on going, and this was just another revolution that didn't matter.

He kicked a rock around absently, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. This meant somewhere out there, his siblings had passed that milestone -- alone, just like him.

Feeling so very isolated from what mattered, Stag sat in the damp grass and pulled the stone close, scowling at the rough exterior of its features as he turned it within his paws.

mahler was never good with birthdays, but he knew stag must be nearing a year. something should be found for the boy to do. he thought of his last conversation with hydra, grunting beneath his breath as he picked up the young man's scent and followed it to where stag turned a rock beneath his paw.
saying nothing initially, mahler settled close and turned his gaze upon their view. "i remember the day you vhere born."

Wherever his siblings were, Stag wondered if they were celebrating alone too. Maybe it was the style of his family.. Not that the boy would know, given how few of them remained. He hardly knew his family.. which meant, in a weird way, Sagtannet was his family now.

Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be?

He looked up as a shadow loomed across the rock, catching first the inquisitive burn of lilac amid Mahler's dark countenance. The boy's ears fell submissively as he pushed the rock away. He certainly remembered nothing of the day that he was born - it seemed so very weird to think of life outside the timeline in which he had existed.. What was it like, before he had come along? "Yeah?" His tail thumped sheepishly. "I don't."

a wisp of amusement curled over his lips. "your mother vas very strong. very determined."
you have always felt like my own
"do not ever forget that you are a volf of diaspora. verever you may go, you have greatness in you." stigmata's blood. takiyok's blood. mahler's influence. but stag was more than these things: he would be who he was meant to be.
he inched closer, sought to brush the youth's shoulder with his own in a manful show of quiet affection.
"you know vylla hates those foothills?"

Stag couldn't stop the brief crestfallen expression that inched across his face at the mention of his mother - he missed her terribly, and many times had regretted his decision to stay here. He was not a wayfarer like his siblings, a commander like Praimfaya, or even a fierce wolf like Wylla. He was just, simply Stag -- and a homebody to boot.

He did not believe he had greatness in him, even if Mahler said otherwise. He did not believe Mahler was lying, but maybe his affection of Stag was clouding his judgment. Maybe he was overvaluing the boy simply by nature of his subjective proximity. Stag, uncomfortable under the fixation of Mahler's accolades, was eager to change the subject and looked at Mahler in surprise. "Why does she hate the foothills?"

too late — he should not have mentioned takiyok. valiantly he pressed on, warming to the new turn of conversation, and to it being upon the subject of wylla. "she thinks the little vones vill fall down the mountainside and impale themselves to death."
it was not that he meant to mock his beloved, but mahler could not understand the specific fear. was she so sure this would happen? "i think that maybe ve should take them down the mountain vhen they are a bit older. vould you like to help? ve could make a day of it."

How was thinking of children falling to their death more palatable than the subject of his mother? Stag's throat tightened, electricity burning down his nape.

"Oh." His tone fell flat; he didn't like thinking of Phaedra being chucked Lady-Macbeth style over the rocks. That dark thought was chased out by the light of opportunity Mahler offered -- a day trip, past the rendezvous. Stag's large ears perked. "Oh," He repeated, this time more upbeat. "That'd be fun! When they're old enough, I mean."

his humour had not landed. for stag — mahler himself was consumed with mirth at the image he found so bizarre. his great inward laughter was evidenced only by a pair of contented blinks, and then he moved on. "they vill be old enough for it sooner than any of us realize."
"have you ever thought of being a scout, stag?" the gargoyle inquired gently. "you are fast and kind. it might interest you."

As was par for the course with Stag, Mahler's humor went WHOOOOOOSH over his head. He was too busy thinking of what kind of goulash Phaedra would imitate by the time she hit the last rock.

Okay, maybe Wylla had a point.

His ears folded as the topic changed to something he got existential dread any time he thought about it: leaving the borders (lol, and here I wrote in his puppy app he'd probably be a Mini-Gaston.. SIKE). But if Mahler insisted...

"I could if you wanted.." His tone said he was anything but thrilled about the suggestion. "I always get lost when I leave."

And that, folks, was the real reason Stag always stuck close to home.

that was not something he had expected. a twitch of his mouth in contemplation. "maybe you and i should take some trips outside, ja?" he could not hope to send stag away if the boy was worried of losing his path. it would be cruel and unusual.
but the boy was soon to the age where often young men started to wander. mahler felt strongly he should have made of himself more a father in the early days, but could not regret them now. stag was before him and he would do his best going ahead.

Leaving home was the last thing Stag had considered -- in the days that followed his first birthday it only seemed he was more entrenched in Diaspora -- for better or worse.

His ears tilted forward at the suggestion of the two of them being travel buddies; Stag's tail involuntarily thumped in excitement. He was a terrible orienteer -- but with Mahler around, they were unlikely to get lost. Maybe he could learn from the stony patriarch how to better navigate the woods, and his senses. "I'd like that." Stag murmured shyly, wondering when it was they could start..

stag agreed, and mahler considered the time before him. there were always things to be done, but sagtannet boasted a tall climb and an adventurous hike to its spined base. perhaps that would appease the boy for now. "there is a herd at the bottom of the mountain. ve can go down and count them now if you vould like."
no time like one's present to begin, and mahler felt that starting in small ways was best to build stag's confidence.

Peering about as if the herd Mahler mentioned would suddenly appear, Stag's gaze swept down across the spires in muted interest. He didn't love traveling outside of the spire much, but if Mahler accompanied him he might eventually get over his clownfeet chickenshitness.

Hedging a breath into the wind the boy nodded subserviently and began his descent down. At least they would be counting from a distance -- that would eliminate clownfeet's likelihood of getting trampled to death.

he was happy to move in silence, carefully choosing the safest path along the mountainside. mahler was sure of his footing, perhaps to a fault; he did not wish to instill this in the younger man. caution before brawn. he did not speak until they had safely reached the foothills of the peak, stepping over the jagged shale that sloped downward into the teeth that wylla so hated.
turning to stag, he gave an encouraging grin. "sagtannet is very large, but the vorld is larger," and here mahler paused to sweep the budding lands with an appreciative eye. it had been some time since his last descent.

Stag was silent as he pulled up the rear, noting the hardy, assured steps of his leader. One day, maybe Stag would emulate Mahler -- for now, he simply observed in that doe-eyed way only youths were capable of.

He paused at the lip of a great ledge, peering down into the darkening expanse as Mahler proudly swept his gaze over his reign. To Stag, that otherworld was vast and terrifying. "It's so big." Stag agreed, awestruck by the endless domain that seemed to sweep away from their feet. "Have you seen all of it?"

"no. i have seen a good part of it, but there is alvways more to see." mahler swung his wide muzzle toward the earth in search of the ruminant spoor; he scuffed at the earth with a wide paw and caught the fragrant reek of their quarry's droppings, piled neatly alongside the path.
"i have become somevone who enjoys staying close to home," the gargoyle added, with little hint of regret. sagtannet was where his home had become and where his children resided. he was pleased to remain.

So much of the world remained just out of Stag's reach. It likely would remain that way, given his tendency to stick close to the hearth. He found he did not grieve this; he was sure the world out there was wild and wonderful, but it was also wickedly cruel.

Sensing a tinge of regret in Mahler's voice, Stag sniffed the raked mark left in the leader's wake. "Are you happy here?" He had always found Mahler to be an enigma -- as he got older and somewhat wiser (or at the very least, capable of introspection and observation), he found himself observing that Mahler seemed a man bound down by sorrowfully heavy chains.

"i am," mahler answered after a long moment had passed. lips pursed thoughtfully. "i think about diaspora a lot," he admitted ruefully, lavender eyes scanning the distant horizon. "perhaps too often, for i find myself a pensive old man these days." a soft chuckle. "but i am glad ve came here, to sagtannet. happy, even. and i am happy to have you along as vell, stag." 
a flick of charcoal ear. "are you happy here?"

Stag thought of Diaspora often as well -- though he found himself missing most the people there. People dead and gone now, but memories he held onto just the same.

That Mahler was happy here came as a genuine surprise to Stag, who had his own suspicion that perhaps Mahler was a man divided by his inability to settle: not for land, not for women, not for love -- and Stag, but a child in relation to the man, had little else experience to draw his suspicions upon.

Was he happy? Stag would be honest - even at the cost of comfort. "No." He confided. "But it is not Sagtannet I am unhappy with." It was a different kind of unhappiness - a restlessness in the soul that was coming too close to stagnancy. "It's something else. Me, maybe. I miss my family -- it's like I'm here, but I'm barely swimming upstream."

mahler would have been dumbstruck at stag's assessment of him, but perhaps age and stubbornness pulled a veil over one's eyes. "i think your life has been largely unsettled," the shadowpriest commented frankly. eyes trained upon the drifting herd, but his heart was no longer upon the hunt.
stare reverted to the young man once more. "it is normal to feel such vays, i think," mahler went on, though his sense of discomfort was beginning to quell his initial passion. a pause to clear his throat. "and vether or not you vish to vander, it is a time that comes for all men. perhaps the intersection is ... difficult."

Mahler, for all of his frankness, had a way of framing words so that their meaning was transparent. Stag took his assessment in stride: it was both true, and it was surprising -- but the more he thought of it, the more he realized that Mahler's comment had awoken an epiphany in him he had not known was close to budding.

"What do I do when that time comes?" Stag asked wide-eyed, feeling a strange brand of terror; he was not a wandering man in that way - he loved his home and he loved his people, but he also was feeling like the walls were coming closer and closer every day. How could one describe a total paradox? "How do I make sure that in doing what I need to do for me, it isn't the death of my duty to others? How do you decide?"

stag's response was open, direct, mature. mahler was reminded again of the young man's birth, and now here that child stood, upon the precipice of manhood. unsure how he might he propelled into the world. "stag," mahler began softly, turning away too late to veil the glitter of deeply felt emotions, "vhen you are young, the only duty you have is to yourself." 
"that seems selfish, i know. but if you never decide to put yourself first, if you never experience vhat that is, then you vill live forever vondering after it." not takiyok nor the gargoyle nor little phaedra could bind him here forever; mahler wanted badly for stag to not do as he had done. time was expansive. time was easily filled. but the memories one carried to the grave would be the sum of the individual.

As Mahler's face turned away, darkened by a storm of emotions, Stag looked to the ground and worked into his mind the logic imparted by the general. To be so selfish seemed wrong, but Mahler was a worldly man with a wealth of experience -- surely, if he said it, it must be so.

He sighed heavily into the wind, glancing down the fir-studded valley that marked their home. "That doesn't seem right." Stag replied, though his tone was free of challenge and instead bore notes of conflicting confusion. "What if while doing that, I miss out on the things here? I won't always have you guys around forever, and if I am gone, I might be wasting all that time that was maybe better spent with my family.." He felt his thoughts were going in circles now, every new revolution as confusing as the last. "I don't think I am ready for that."

stag's words assured mahler of his own mortality, but that was the way that life kept its cycle: with the death of old men and the ascension of the young. stag, however, did not seem eager to depart sagtannet, and despite his age gave salience to his reasons for remaining.
"it is a choice only you can make," mahler murmured at length. " if you are not ready, if you are, i vill respect the decision." a twitch of his lips. "no time spent seeking experience can ever be called 'vasted,' i do not think."

In Stag there was a dearth of world experiences. He knew this, and he was bitter for his advanced age (in his eyes) and disadvantaged wisdom.. But he could not stomach the idea of leaving, and now more than ever it seemed he was needed here.

So he would stay, and any soul searching would have to wait.

He looked down at the valley, cowled in a silvery mist with just the tips of the distant firs sticking through its depths. A realm unknowable and undiscovered; dangerous and remote. It did not call to him, not the way duty did. He was silent, mulling over Mahler's words and wondering if he was making the right choice, though in his heart he knew the answer.